


Prodigal Son

by hothotraindrop



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, One-Sided Attraction, Or Is It?, Period-Typical Homophobia, This Is The Wrong Time But I Need It Now, Touch Starved Finally Satisfied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 16:16:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hothotraindrop/pseuds/hothotraindrop
Summary: Father John Johnson is a Man of Pride, a Man of God, a Man reeling after confessing his deepest of sins. But what temptations has he let in now he's let it out?





	Prodigal Son

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Nuestra Iglesia](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716262) by [PengyChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PengyChan/pseuds/PengyChan). 



_You gave yourself enough penance. And it didn’t work, did it?_

\- 

John let his head fall back against the door, its gentle thud the drop of a pin in his otherwise silent room. The tension was palpable, uncomfortably so, and he swore he would suffocate underneath it all. Except that wasn’t right, was it? There was no one to blame for these desires but himself. He was the master of his own downfall, low enough that he had barely forced himself to confess while the flames of hell licked at his proverbial boots. 

Yet he couldn’t purge the images from his mind. At the time he’d been too far in his own head to appreciate it, but the memory of Father Ernest, regarding him in such a way in the candlelight? It was as frightening as it was enticing. A man shouldn’t be able to cut such a figure, dwarf even his tall stature when they stood side by side. He had no business being so- so all encompassing in his life and his thoughts. Especially his thoughts. If even a touch could set him aflame – why did he so freely give it? – the memories of them were seared into his mind like scars, haunting his every quiet moment. John shook himself, he sick, familiar tightness returned to his form. It gripped him, purring deeply from the pit of his stomach. John forced himself to stare at the crucifix hanging within his lodgings. Shame coursed through him but looking away was out of the question. For looking away would only mean looking down and offering himself a visual of the visceral state that he found himself in once again. His left hand gripped, blindly, for his rosary, slipping under his cassock in his haste for absolution. Instead, a sharp gasp escaped his lips Even his own touch had his body betraying him, craving more and bowing to temptation. John found himself all too aware of each and every callous on his hand. His heart was pounding, in his chest, in his ears, in his hips. He shouldn’t be doing this, the mere thought of it felt like sacrilege alone. He needed penance. 

_And it didn’t work, did it?_

He’d tried so hard, and for so many years – and to what end? Still he was failing to walk the proper path, failing to live up to the standards he had set himself. Years spent in a precarious balance, only to find himself bowing against temptation once more. 

Several seconds passed in relative silence; John was all too aware of the unlocked door behind him, hypersensitive to the faint bustle of the Church and his heart pounding in his ears. It hit an uneven rhythm, the pump of his blood spreading heat throughout his being. It was a carnal ache, one that was beginning to engulf his very being. He was a Man of God; he should be better than this there was no two ways about it.  
A base cry escaped him, quiet and frustrated. He was too tight, too tense and too hot, fumbling desperately at the fastenings of his cassock for just a little bit of breathing room. All but tearing at the buttons, the garment was left to hang loosely open. John let his head hang low. He had achieved nothing, for even the shift of the air had him in goose bumps, and the damning sight of the bulge in his pants was wholly inescapable. His expression morphed, twisted in vain attempt to will it away. Alas, the backs of his eyelids only gave way to visions of a much more carnal kind. Bared forearms, a hand ghosting againnst his neck- 

A high pitched whine escaped his lips as a wave of what could only be described as _bliss_ wracked his body. Unbidden, his hand had come to cup himself, tugging lightly in an experimental motion. John’s eyes froze, widened in absolute horror. It felt… Divine, and all the worse for stopping. If his father were to see him like this now, what would he think of him? How far from grace could he possibly let himself fall? But then again – he gave himself another, experimental caress , a broken gasp rushing past clenched teeth – if he were to crumble and fall so easily, perhaps he deserved to commit a sin that he could be punished for. A dark part of himself couldn’t help but goad him on, and so it was with trembling hands that unfastened his trousers, that began their uncertain foray into debauchery. 

He knew the wrongness of it all, yet as he grew harder his revulsion couldn’t quite be mustered, chipped away at with each seductive movement and lured in by an errant flick of his wrist. True moans were caught in a tight throat, choked gasping the only sound his parted lips could make as he sank further into the foreign heat of his own palm. He could feel his entire being throbbing in time with his own erection. He had never thought such a place could become so sensitive, yet it kept building until he couldn’t think anything much at all. Pumping and thrusting, it was as though it was his last link to salvation – and he supposed, in a way, that it was. Rational though knew that he should be forcing himself to stop, yet every part of him was screaming for more. His hand slowed, stilled. Experimentally, John ran his thumb over his aching head. His whole body shuddered, curling into himself as it set his skin alight, the pleasure burning and building into something. He’d come too far to stop now; if he really was going to hell, he may as well enjoy his descent. 

Lips parted, panting, John gripped himself tighter. He found himself unable to control even his own movements as he thrust without rhythm into his fist. Every part of him alight, washed in something euphoric that only glowed brighter within him in every passing moment. The pleasure he felt was sinful in just how right it felt, how naturally it came. Certainly, it was abominable how he had succumbed to temptation, yet what stung all the more was how good it felt, and how he had been deprived of it for so long. 

And so he embraced it with open arms. 

Not only did Father John Johnson moan, desperate as a man possessed, he began to want _more_. He could see it in his mind’s eye. His back against the wall, large figure leaning down so he could cup his chin, draw him close enough that their noses could touch. 

His grip on his cock tightened until it hurt, all of his disgust coming through in jerky, stuttering tugs . his whole body tingled and shuddered. John didn’t know why he was damning himself, he didn’t even know what this was going to achieve. But it felt good - Lord, if it didn’t feel heavenly! – and if this was what sinning felt like then Farther Ernest had been right to dissuade penance. The image of his smile flashed before him, unbidden. 

“Father Ernest- _oh!_ ” 

A cry escaped him, and John slapped his hand over his mouth. teeth sank into flesh in vain attempts to keep himself silent. All too soon it came to a peak; John convulsed as he came, tears welling as he did so until the only sounds he was stifling were his own relieved sobs. Legs trembling, he sank to the floor, his eyes looking out unseeing. There was a pit of shame should be settlin within him. It stayed vacant, was engulfed by the afterglow that encompassed his entire being. His whole body felt lighter, more relaxed. 

John licked his lips. 

\- 

It was with a half-lidded gaze that Ernesto regarded the door. A slow, self-satisfied smirk crossed his lips. Hearing Padre Juan come off his high horse, in every sense of the word, was an interesting development to behold. But what to do; should he share this with Sofia? She would be delighted by the gossip, that was certain. Ernesto adjusted himself discreetly- perhaps he would just remember this for later.


End file.
